


Cold Winter Nights

by Elfinwood



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sweet, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:44:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfinwood/pseuds/Elfinwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a long day and the electricity goes out in 221 B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Winter Nights

It had been raining all day. That cold, almost-ice sort of rain that made you want to stay inside all day with a nice, hot cup of tea. John cursed himself for forgetting his umbrella. He was always forgetting his umbrella. He had finished up at the clinic and was making his way back home to 221 B and a hot shower. The rain made the air damp and cold. Both the precipitation and the chilly air seemed to seep through John's clothing, despite his somewhat heavy jumper and coat. The wet only added to the overall effect and John was soon shivering to the bone.  
The door of 221 B was more than a welcome sight. Grabbing the knocker, he yanked it open. The flat was warm and dry. His body instantly relaxed a little more. Taking off his coat, John headed up the stairs, leaving wet footprints in his wake.   
John was pleasantly surprised to find a fire in the garret. Shedding his sopping coat and removing his equally saturated shoes and socks. John sank onto the floor, letting his body soak in the delicious warmth of the fire. He wasn't sure if Sherlock was home or not. He wasn't in the kitchen and his bedroom door was shut. The flat was very quiet, other than the merry crackle of the fire, and John felt soothed by the cozy atmosphere.  
It had been a long day. The flu was going around and John swore he saw every elderly person and child in the entire city, all of which had a chesty cough and stuffy noses (he was afraid that there was probably going to be an out break of pneumonia and bronchitis in a few weeks, this sort of flu usually lead to that...). He sighed, the tension of his body easing as he exhaled. He knew he needed to change out of his damp clothes, and he wanted a hot shower and cuppa. But he was enjoying just sitting still for a moment. He closed his eyes and let his mind wonder as he was lulled by the sounds of the fire. 

John opened his eyes. His surroundings were somewhat bleary and for a moment, he wasn't really sure where he was. Blinking several times, John's vision cleared and he realized he was laying down on the floor with a pillow under his head and his comforter wrapped around him.   
John looked at himself in sleepy confusion, I don't remember getting my blanket...  
“You were shivering,” Sherlock's voice rumbled softly. John turned to see Sherlock at his microscope in the kitchen.  
Getting up, he stretched his stiff body, popping his joints. “Wasn't exactly planning on taking a kip on the floor,”he yawned.  
“Of course not. I expect your shoulder will be sore.” John absently rotated his left shoulder. Sherlock was right, with the cold and damp, a nap on the hard floor probably wouldn't do it any good. He could already feel the twinges begin.   
“I expect a hot shower would help with that,” Sherlock mused, never looking up from the microscope. John was a little surprised at his concern, but didn't think anything of it. Shaking his head, John jotted up the stairs to grab some dry pajamas.   
Sherlock must have gotten me that pillow and my blanket, John thought. What an astute observation, John, Sherlock's voice echoed mockingly. Shut up. John snorted, Great, now I'm having conversations with him in my head. Jesus I need to hang out with Lestrade more. John shook his head again and made his way to the bathroom.   
He turned on the tap to let the water warm up. His clothes were much drier but still stuck to his skin a bit as he peeled them off. His skin broke out in goose-bumps as it was exposed to the cooler air. John gave an involuntary shiver before stepping into the shower.  
The hot water on his skin was delicious. John practically moaned with pleasure as his cold, tense body began to relax and warm up. John just stood there for a few minutes, letting the water run down his whole body and breathing in the steam. The worries of the day dripped off of him and scuttled down the drain just like the water. John suddenly became exhausted.   
After toweling off and disposing of his damp clothes, John decided he wanted a cuppa. He padded into the kitchen, where Sherlock still remained,   
“You're going to hurt your back, bending over that microscope like that,” John mused.  
“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed. John rolled his eyes. He wasn't really irritated, he was used to Sherlock paying no mind to his advice. It was like bouncing a ball against a brick wall, or water sliding off a rain coat, what he said never stuck, not really. And, truth be told, it didn't really affect John (unless, of course, it wad dire).   
The kettle began to boil and John fixed his tea. He unceremoniously plopped the tea bag in and then, just as unceremoniously, plopped himself down into his chair. The fire was still burning, and it felt good against his skin. He still felt chilled, even after his shower. The hot tea helped, warming up his insides. It wasn't long before John's eyelids began to feel heavy and staying awake was harder and harder. Finally, setting his cup down, John gave in and fell asleep. 

When he awoke, the fire was just embers and the flat was bathed in darkness. He could hear the tap tap of Sherlock's fingers on his laptop. Sherlock sat across from him, in his dressing robe, engrossed in whatever it was he was looking at. John smiled softly. He always liked catching Sherlock like this, completely relaxed, his mind whirring, thinking that John couldn't or didn't see him. It brought a sort of humanity into his features. A type of softness that John couldn't exactly place. Not wanting the disturb the magic moment, John simply watched Sherlock, quietly. It was an involuntary shudder that broke the scene. Sherlock looked up from his screen,  
“You should probably go to bed,” he said, his eyes returning to his computer.  
“Mmm, probably should,” John mused. He was just so darn comfortable, and his bed seemed so far away. He looked over at the couch, where is blanket and pillow had been deposed. Willing himself up, he walked over to it and, once again, unceremoniously plopped down. Stretching his legs did feel good, but the dying warmth of the fire didn't reach him anymore. John snuggled into the blanket, letting his natural body heat warm him up. Sleep didn't take long to claim him again.

When John woke again he was shivering. He had maneuvered himself into a little ball in his sleep. The fire was completely out now. John sat up, sure, it being winter an all the flat would be naturally cooler but this was down-right cold. John shuffled to the thermostat, at squinted at it. But before he could make any deduction Sherlock was behind him,  
“Electricity is out. Ice on the lines,” Sherlock reached for his coat. In one sweeping motion, he donned his coat and gracefully kneeled by the fireplace. By the time John was by his side, Sherlock had a flame going, and soon the fire began to roar.   
“Won't heat up the whole flat, but should keep this room sufficiently warm. At least until the power's back on,” Sherlock returned to his chair, leaving John to sluggishly take the blanket from the couch and sit in his own chair.   
The fire did help, but the flat remained cold. John had sufficiently cocooned himself in the blanket. He watched absently as Sherlock continued to tap tap away at his laptop. Every now and again, Sherlock would bring his hands to his lips and blow on them, warming them up. He did this action more and more frequently until he put the computer away completely and tucked his hands under his arms. Both he and John stared into the fire. Sherlock, contemplative, John, absent minded.   
“You know,” John spoke, quietly, “you should probably get a blanket”. Sherlock made a noncommittal noise and no indication that he was going to move any time soon. John sighed. Fine, if he wanted to be half frozen, so be it. John was too tired to care, and soon slipped back into the beckoning arms of Morpheus. 

John awoke to a hand on his shoulder gently shaking him. His eyes fluttered open to see Sherlock standing directly over him.   
“J-John,” Sherlock stammered, “John, p-please. I'm v-very cold and I think if we s-shared our b-b-body heat it would serve to k-keep us b-both warm,” John could feel Sherlock shiver. He cocked his head in confusion, wondering if he were having a dream. But no, the image of the shivering detective remained, even after blinking a few times.   
“P-please, John! This expensively v-vile duvet is d-doing absolutely nothing to k-keep me warm!” Spouted the dramatic detective, “a-and I swear I-I'm going to freeze to death!”   
A slow, soft smile crept onto John's lips. Big baby, he thought, poor, freezing, big baby.   
“Alright, alright. Calm down. I'll stir up the fire and you go sit on the couch,” stretching his stiff limbs, John rekindled the fire while a grouchy Sherlock flopped down onto the couch.   
“I can't f-feel the fire as well from here,” he complained.  
“Well hold off for a bit! Let me get over there!” John chided. He settled next to Sherlock, taking both their duvets and draping them over each other. Sherlock wasted no time snuggling up to the doctor, who was, as John noted, much warmer than the slender detective.  
“Good god, you're like ice!” John exclaimed when Sherlock shoved his hands under John's armpits. John could feel Sherlock shiver against him. The proximity didn't bother him. In fact, lately, he had noticed Sherlock being closer to him in general. While standing in the house or out in public, the detective stood a little closer, the same while sitting down. To John, this was just a physical expression of how close they had gotten, and Sherlock's own way of opening up more to him.   
The doctor put his arm around the slender man, pulling him closer. As a matter of fact, John actually liked (and sometimes craved) the closeness. John hadn't been in any type of physical relationship for a while (as he wasn't very good at keeping girlfriends and they had become less and less frequent since moving into 221 B), and John was a man of touch. He needed it.   
Sherlock had stopped shivering, but he made no move to push off the doctor's arm. He actually tucked his head into John's clavicle, sighing contentedly. John gave a single amused snort to the motion. Soon, both detective and doctor were feeling very sleepy.   
Just on the cusp of sleep, John felt Sherlock move, and a pair of soft lips planted a sweet and gentle kiss on his cheek. This didn't disturb John in the least. On the contrary, it made him smile, sleepily. All was well in 221 B, and all was right with the world.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Valentine exchange I did! Hope you all enjoyed! I apologize for the awful editing!


End file.
